


The Moon Sure Is Beautiful Tonight

by GoldenNight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Harry Potter - Freeform, Werewolf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 10:28:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5330810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenNight/pseuds/GoldenNight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The screaming, when it started, was what Lyall Lupin would remember most about that night.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>{Remus Lupin one-shot; the night he was attacked.}</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Moon Sure Is Beautiful Tonight

The screaming, when it started, was what Lyall would remember most about that night.

It had started off as nothing at all. When asked, Lyall would insist that no other sounds had broken into the house; just the slow crackle of the log fire, the clicks of Hope’s knitting needles, and the low hum of the radio. A re-telling of the best Minister of Magic theorists, it was, narrated by some moderately famous wizard; Lyall had never heard of him before, but his voice was low and soothing, and as he listened, Lyall could feel himself beginning to drop off to sleep. He felt himself forget about the stress of his work, about the line of angry wizards barking at him to somehow magically fix their problems…he forgot about the nosey old Muggle lady next door who seemed determined to stick her nose into all of their business and yap, ‘What’s that, then?’ the moment he brought home the slightest bit of magical equipment…he forgot about the disastrous trial that had occurred just a week earlier, full of lies and trickery, and that one man looming over the court-desk, insisting that he was innocent, the sliver of a smile on his grey and lined face all the same….in that moment, at seven-thirty pm one ordinary Wednesday evening, Lyall Lupin could focus only on the silent company his wife was providing and the gentle, reassuring tones of the radio.

In fact, one might argue that had Lyall not chosen that exact evening to tune into Top 50 Greatest Ministry Theorists, the events that occurred that night may not have happened at all.

At seven-thirty six, there was a crash from upstairs.

Lyall jolted. He wasn’t alarmed, or shocked-rather, he was in that strange in-between of sleep and awakening, where he could take in all his surroundings but never really focus on them. In fact, he was suspecting the sudden noise had been nothing but the remnants of an interrupted dream, and so he made to settle back into his chair again. It was only the look on Hope’s face that kept him reluctantly awake.

Ten seconds after, the first cry pierced the air.

Hope was out of her chair in an instant. Grabbing one of her needles and letting the pink string roll uselessly along the carpet, she strode over to the door and flung it open.

‘Remus?’ she cried, looking up the stairs in concern. Lyall, now forced from his slumber, shot up behind her, put one foot on the landing, unsure of whether or not to risk going up.

‘Remus!’ he echoed, his voice louder and stronger than that of his wife’s. If he listened closely, he could hear a small sob in reply. His thoughts began to fly out of control, as all parents’ do when they fear their child is in danger. Had he tripped over something? _That would explain the crash_. Maybe he’d just innocently fallen out of bed- _but then his bed wasn’t particularly high, he couldn’t have hurt himself, why would he be crying?_ A nightmare, perhaps….despite the rational explanations, one possibility kept picking at Lyall’s mind, forcing itself into his fears, filling his body with an almost paralyzing fear. And when a scream screeched through the walls of the small wooden house, he made up his mind and rushed up the stairs, taking them two at a time, his hand almost unconsciously flying to his wand.

Looking back on it, Hope would be the first to admit that perhaps her husband was not simply being paranoid by insisting he carry his wand about with him everywhere, for when Lyall threw open his son’s bedroom door and aimed it at the shadowed figure crouched in the room, the power of the curse and the terror fuelling his words sent both the boy and his attacker flying in opposite directions.

The bedroom was in pieces. The window had been torn from its hinges, blowing a cold wind into the house; painted blue walls had been scratched with huge claws, like scythes; the bed on one side of the room had tipped over onto its side, a sad and lopsided wreck. Crouched beside it was Remus, with his head bowed and hands clutching his hair, rocking back and forth. Lyall took this in within seconds, and then his gaze darted back to the shadows, which appeared to be moving. A figure emerged from them; hunched back, broad shoulders, thick and clammy fingers. Two pale, icy blue eyes stared at him, framed by masses of long, matted hair…no, not hair, Lyall realized… _fur_. A long grin crawled its way up the facial features, as if pleased by Lyall’s sudden realization, sharp canines interlocking in the center, drooling with saliva and blood. Pale hands bent below the figure’s chest, as if forced into a position unnatural for the human body, the clawed fingers distorted and ripped and streaked with crimson.

The second curse struck the werewolf in the left shoulder. It howled and bent double, letting rip a horrible wailing sound that sounded like bones breaking within the flesh. Lyall sent another, a mix of yellow sparks, that shot the creature in the thigh. It snarled, all traces of good humour lost; man and beast were interlocked in a circle, both facing the other, neither wanting to be the first to move. Lyall walked backwards, slowly, until he was in front of Remus. The boy had now fallen silent, and somehow this terrified Lyall worst of all. He couldn’t afford to take his eyes from the werewolf prowling in front of him, however; steeling himself, ignoring the heart beating at a rapid pace in his chest, he stood his ground. The werewolf growled. It didn’t sound like that of the irate dogs Lyall would see on his daily walks; more like chalks screeching on a blackboard. It sent shivers down Lyall’s spine.

The werewolf’s ears were flattened against its skull, skin stretched taut against its bones. Unlike the werewolves Lyall had seen in books, in research documents, this particular creature did not show off every rib in its chest, and its stomach seemed fresh and full. It certainly wasn’t hungry.

It snarled again.

‘Get away from here,’ Lyall forced out. ‘Get. _Away_.’

The werewolf did not move. It cocked its head to the side, seemingly amused.

Hand shaking, Lyall raised his wand further into the air. ‘Or I will kill you,’ he said, and he was momentarily taken aback by how much he believed it.

Recognition flashed in the beast’s eyes. It let out another, final rasp, bent it’s hind legs, showed off its teeth: and then a winding green light shot towards it. The werewolf ducked just in time. Screeching in fury, scrabbling to avoid the shards of broken glass now littering the floor, it scrambled onto the windowsill and forced its body through the gap. Lyall sent another curse, and then another; both missed, simply because the werewolf leaped from the window and fell to the garden below. There was a dull thud, a hiss; then the thumps of powerful paws smacking at the ground, gradually fading away into the distance.

Lyall stood stock-still for a few moments, listening to the sound of his heavy breathing. He could hear Hope downstairs, calling up to him with pitched anxiety in her voice. Below him, something stirred.

And it was now, with seemingly absurd timing, that Lyall realized how beautiful the full moon was tonight.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I love Lupin, and I've always wanted to find out more about what happened when he first became a werewolf. So, here you go. I wasn't sure whether or not to add a violence or a gore warning in there; if you think I should, please just say! 
> 
> Throughout the course of writing this I realized just how much I loathe Fenrir Greyback. What a jerk.
> 
> I got all information on Lyall & Hope Lupin from Pottermore. None of the characters belong to me, but to J.K. Rowling.


End file.
